Minor Revelations
by mossley
Summary: Reloaded to fix formatting. As Sara and Grissom work Sammy's case, they learn a bit more about each other. A sequel to A Minor Incident that I was blackmailed into writing. Probably not necessary to read that one first. Story deals with child abuse.


**Minor Revelations****  
Summary:** As Sara and Grissom work Sammy's case, they learn a bit more about each other. A sequel to A Minor Incident that I was blackmailed into writing. Probably not necessary to read that one first.**  
****A/N**: Brief mention of S4 finale. You can blame my beta, Ann, for this story. She and Burked were my betas. The story deals with child abuse. **  
****Rating:** PG-13**  
****Disclaimer:** I still don't own CSI or anything to do with it, and I'm sure the folks at CBS are happy about that.

* * *

Brass grinned as he poked his head around the corner. This was too cute. When the page came through that there had been trouble with the kid that had been picked up at the movie complex, all sorts of scenarios ran through his mind. In the end, he decided that he'd find that Sara had resorted to hogtying the miniature menace with a roll of crime scene tape. 

Finding the kid asleep with his head on Sara's shoulder never occurred to Brass. She had an arm wrapped tentatively around him, looking like she was handling an unstable explosive. Well, considering what the terrible tyke did to Fromansky, maybe she was right.

Pairing her with the kid wasn't the kindest thing he'd ever done, but he wasn't trying to be kind. Her drinking had scared the crap out of him. He understood all too well the danger she had put herself in. Brass wasn't in the position to reprimand her, and that wasn't what she needed right now. But that didn't mean he couldn't let his displeasure be known.

What better way than making her baby-sit a wild kid?

And despite her self-professed unease around them, Sara actually did well with kids. Besides, someone had to watch the brat until Child Services arrived. Eventually, he'd have to get around to calling them. Well, it was a Saturday night; it wasn't like they'd have enough people on call there. Someone would have had to wait with the hellion for hours no matter when he made the call.

Brass let out a disappointed groan as he peered around the corner into the glass-walled waiting area again. Sara had reached over to brush a lock of the kid's hair from his face. _Damn. I shoulda brought my digital camera. No one's gonna believe this. She looks so sweet. _

His chuckle died when Grissom called out angrily from behind him. Turning around, Brass raised an eyebrow in amusement. Besides the camera bag and his kit, the entomologist was loaded down with a large carryout bag. "Picnic?"

"Where the hell is Child Services?"

"Not in a rush to get rid of Tiny Tim, are you? I think he's taken a shine to Sara."

"We need permission to process him and get him to the hospital. Looks like abuse."

"Damn. I'll get on the horn with them and light a fire," Brass said, his earlier mirth dissipating rapidly. Since the boy had been found in a theater, the detective figured it was a prankster, not a potential runaway.

Grissom didn't answer, but headed into the room, pausing to watch the tender scene before him. This wasn't a side of Sara that he saw often, but it never failed to make an impression. It always reminded him of all the things that were missing in his life. Of who he never allowed in his life.

The fact the little boy was gap-toothed with blue eyes hadn't escaped his notice earlier. Now, watching Sara with the child, Grissom found his thoughts drifting to possibilities he'd considered out of the question before.

As he set his packages on the table, the boy began to stir. Sara talked quietly to him, softly running her fingers through his hair. Grissom couldn't make out the words, but he could tell she was trying to soothe the child. Her efforts didn't prevent the boy from starting up.

"It's okay, Sammy," she said, taking a firm but gentle grip on his arms. "You're still with me. Remember Grissom? He's a … friend of mine. He brought something for you to eat."

"Really?"

It was impossible to miss the edge of desperation in the child's voice, or the way he hungrily eyed the bag of food. The baggy clothes made it hard to judge the extent, but the boy was clearly underfed.

"Yes, Sammy," Grissom said, forcing his voice to stay calm as he remembered Sara's request for the ultraviolet flash. It was used to show old bruising, a sign that the boy had suffered physical violence as well. As angry as this case was making him, showing that anger could be upsetting for the boy.

Sammy looked nervously at Sara, who stood up and held out her hand to him. He slowly took it, licking his lips as they approached the table. "I can have something?"

"Yeah," she replied softly, fighting her own temper. The thought that a mother would allow her own child to be abused infuriated her. How could she not know? The boy was bruised and burned, not to mention far underweight. "Looks like Grissom brought a lot of food."

"Enough for three. Would you like the grilled cheese or a hamburger, Sammy?" Grissom asked as he pulled out a large container of chocolate milk and placed it in front of the boy. A family-sized order of french fries, multiple containers of fruit salad and jell-o, and two sodas followed.

"Can I have the hamburger?"

"Sure. Here you go. And an egg salad for you."

"Thanks. Sammy, stop!" Sara exclaimed suddenly. Growing up, she'd been fascinated by the sheer amount of food her older brother and his friends could eat in one sitting. Her parents joked that it cost them a week's profits whenever his friends joined them for dinner. Sammy seemed eager to beat their record in one bite.

Dropping the sandwich on the table, Sammy cringed back in his chair, fearfully darting his eyes between them. Sara cursed silently at her mistake as she eased herself closer to the terrified child.

_Great move. Scare the kid even more. He's starving. Of course he was going to wolf it down. I should have thought about that, not yelled at him. And I thought he was starting to trust me. How the hell are you supposed to act around an abused kid? I scare normal ones. Damn, Sammy deserves better than this. _

"It's okay. You can eat all you want, but you have to chew your food. You'll make yourself sick if you don't, " Sara said calmly, kneeling beside his chair. She reached over to open the milk container and inserted a straw into it.

"I'm sorry," Sammy said meekly.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Chew first," she insisted when he started to reach for the sandwich.

Sammy quickly chewed and swallowed, still looking nervous. When Sara handed him the milk, he took a long sip, nodding when she asked if he wanted any fries. The huge handful was on the way to his mouth before Sara could intervene, but a pointed look was enough to have him compromise by nibbling on the end of the pile.

"Small bites. You don't want to make yourself sick. We're not going to take the food away. You need some fruit, too."

"What'sthatstuff?" he asked skeptically around another mouthful of potatoes.

She resisted the urge to give him a lecture in manners, more concerned by his question. The container held strawberries and cantaloupe – hardly exotic ingredients. If he didn't recognize them, she worried that his diet had been seriously unbalanced as well as inadequate.

"Good stuff. See, Grissom brought some for all of us. Try a bite. Go ahead! If you don't like it, you don't have to finish it. Come on, try it. Please? For me? Fruit is good for you. Look, I'll try a bite first."

Grissom silently chewed the grilled cheese sandwich, watching as Sara eventually coaxed the boy into trying the fruit. The look of disgust on his face as he opened his mouth would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so grave. Like Sara, Grissom realized the implications of Sammy not knowing what the fruits were.

He ate half of his serving, but reluctantly. He clearly preferred the hamburger and fries, eating most of those by himself. Given the abundance of other food, the only reason he ate the fruit appeared to be to please Sara. The boy seemed to have bonded with her. If he were from an abusive background, it would make sense that Sammy would latch on to the first person that seemed to care about him.

And it seemed she did care. Sara hadn't left his side, eating her own sandwich while remaining kneeling beside the chair, one arm draped across the back. It had to be uncomfortable, but she gave no indication of abandoning the watchful post. Sammy leaned into her, occasionally looking at her adoringly. Sara returned the looks with gentle smiles.

It was a rare look at her nurturing side. In truth, Grissom had never realized it was so strong, but watching her with the child made him wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of that type of attention.

Finishing his soda, Grissom watched the scene before him with a mild sense of unease. Eventually, they'd have to leave the boy in the care of Child Services, and if he bonded too strongly with Sara, the separation would be painful for him. At this point in his life, Sammy didn't need to feel abandoned.

Seeing the tender look on Sara's face, Grissom worried that this case would wound her as well. She was empathetic. While it gave her a great understanding of their victims and a motivation to help them, it also left her open to being hurt by their cases. And he didn't want her to be hurt anymore.

"Sammy, what's your last name?" Grissom asked kindly once the boy slowed his intake of food, blinking when he shot him an irritated look.

"Yeager," he answered after Sara encouraged him.

"Where do you live?"

"An apartment."

"What else can you tell me about it?"

"It smells there."

Grissom smiled at the boy, pushing the remnants of his lunch to the side and leaning forward across the table. "Do you know the address?"

"Uh, uh," he answered vaguely, shifting closer to Sara.

"Did you run away from home?"

Sammy's only answer was a slight nod. "Couple days ago."

"Do you know how many for sure?"

"Uh, uh. I stayed at the theater."

"Go on," Grissom encouraged, but it took Sara to convince the boy to confide in them.

"It's always dark in there. I'd sleep in a seat during the long movies. People left food, and I ate that."

"How old are you?" Sara asked him after a brief shudder. The thought that a child could hide in a theater for days, eating trash and not be found was disturbing. It was also clever. In a 24-hour theater, it would be easy to find a place to hide.

"Ten."

Grissom and Sara locked eyes over the table. The boy was very small for his age, making both wonder how extensive his malnourishment was.

"What school do you go to?" Sara asked after a momentary pause.

"Don't go to no school."

"Any," she corrected automatically, resisting the urge to slap her forehead.

"Huh?"

"You don't go to any school," she said with an embarrassed shrug. "That's the right way of saying it. Don't worry about that now. Have you lived in Vegas long?"

"Uh, uh. We don't stay at no … _any_ … place too long," he said, smiling broadly when Sara nodded at his correct grammar. "We got here when it was cold. It snowed a little one night the first week."

Sara gave him an encouraging smile. Light dustings of snow were a rarity in Las Vegas, but they did happen. He'd been able to give them a time frame to work with. It might help them in their efforts to track his family.

"Do you know how to reach your father?" Grissom asked.

"Jake says I don't got none," Sammy whispered morosely.

"Is Jake your mother's boyfriend?" Sara interjected, noting the dark look in Grissom's eyes. She knew child abuse cases were a sore spot for him, and Sammy's wasn't going to be an exception.

The boy nodded slowly, dropping his head as he pushed a stray french fry around the pile of ketchup. "He's mean."

"You're going to have to tell someone about that," Sara explained softly. "They'll make sure that Jake can't hurt you again. You have to tell them all the stuff, even what you don't want to talk about. Okay?"

"You'll be there?"

"I promise."

"Will he?" the boy asked suddenly, glaring questioningly across the table.

"Grissom's with me. He doesn't bite," Sara quipped, smiling at her colleague's baffled look. "Now how about some dessert?"

Sammy was scraping the last of the jell-o from his container when a stressed out looking woman walked in with Brass. Leaning farther into Sara, the boy looked to her for reassurance when the strangers made a beeline to him.

"This is the lady I told you about. She's from Child Services. She's going to ask you some questions, Sammy."

"Okay." Taking Sara's hand, he stayed close until Grissom moved up to her other side. Then Sammy dropped her hand and darted in between the two adults. Grissom froze as the boy pushed him away.

"Gil, I always thought a little competition would be good for you, but that's not what I had in mind," Brass deadpanned, winking when Sara looked back at them as Sammy pulled her forward.

"Not funny," he responded, refusing to get drawn into an imaginary Oedipus complex with a troubled child. "Besides, I'm the one that brought him the food. He should like me."

"He's not a stray cat, no matter what he smells like."

"Your compassion is truly underwhelming, Jim."

Brass chuckled as they made their way to an interrogation room. There, Sammy refused to let go of Sara's hand even as he climbed into a chair. The other adults in the room, especially Grissom, were treated to distrustful stares.

"I'm not leaving," Sara told Sammy, but addressing Matthews.

The woman gave a vague hand wave, pulling out various forms from her bag. Taking a deep breath, her whole demeanor changed as she started talking. "Hello, Sammy. My name is Lisa Matthews. I heard you were hurt," she said, speaking in gentle and non-threatening tones, slowly coaxing Sammy into talking. Sara kept her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently, as he turned around to lift his sweatshirt. None of the adults reacted verbally, but all looked away in disgust.

"Thank you, Sammy. You can put your shirt down now," Matthews told him as she signed some paperwork and got up.

"That's it?" Sara asked incredulously. The questioning had been very brief, barely getting any details.

"I'm the only one on staff tonight, and I have two other cases. I was here already; you were lucky to catch me," she said, holding out her hands. "I'll have to get the clearance to hospitalize him, but I'll be back as soon as I can. You can go ahead and start processing. You know to be careful with his underwear."

"Right," Grissom said tightly. Nothing Sammy described sounded liked sexual abuse, but victims often didn't admit to it. Physical evidence could still exist, though.

"Sammy, these people are going to take some photos of you and get you some clean clothes. I'll be back later to talk to you some more. Everything is going to be just fine," the rep told him before leaving. Brass followed, nodding towards the one-way mirror.

"Okay, Grissom's putting down some paper. I want you to strip down to your underwear and go stand on it for me," Sara said as she opened the camera case.

"Huh?"

Looking back at Sammy, she saw the boy blushing deeply. Her lips twitched as she recognized that he was embarrassed.

"I'll tell you what, I'll leave you here with Grissom and go wait in the other room until you're done. He won't hurt you. I promise."

"No!"

"Would you rather Grissom left?" Sara asked in confusion.

Neither option seemed to please Sammy, who swung his head back and forth between the two of them, chewing his lip nervously. Finally, he reluctantly walked over to Grissom and tugged frantically on his jacket sleeve until he bent over.

"I'll take care of it," Grissom told him kindly when the boy finished whispering in his ear. Sammy nodded before staring at his shoes embarrassedly. Grissom walked towards Sara, speaking quietly to her as he passed. "He doesn't have any underwear. I'll go find a towel."

"Thanks. Hey, Sammy. Can you tell me what some of the buildings around your apartment look like? And let me see your hand."

Still blushing, he described various landmarks as Sara scraped under his nails. Brass would be in the other room; hopefully, Sammy was providing enough details to narrow down his apartment building. She smiled at him encouragingly, trying to put him at ease until Grissom returned with a bath towel. Grabbing the camera case, she walked away making a show of checking the contents to give Sammy some privacy while he stripped, and Grissom fashioned a wrap for him.

Turning around, she closed her eyes and counted off mentally until she calmed down. The patterns of burns and bruises continued across the child's chest and stomach, mingling with cuts and scrapes. With only the folded up towel wrapped around his waist, the true extent of his malnourishment was glaring.

She quickly snapped the photos, constantly smiling at Sammy so he wouldn't sense her growing anger. It also distracted him from the fact Grissom was bagging and labeling all his clothes. Sammy gave her a funny look as she started combing out his hair, but didn't protest until Grissom tried to fingerprint him.

"I need to do this," he said firmly, reaching to take the boy's hand.

"Uh, uh."

"The quicker we do this, the quicker we'll be done."

"I don't wanna."

"It doesn't hurt," Grissom said patiently.

"Uh, uh."

"I'll get you a soda when I'm done."

"No!" Sammy exclaimed loudly, sticking his hands in his armpits.

"Please?" Grissom sank back on his heels as the boy glared at him, furiously shaking his head. He shot Sara a 'what can I do' look as she walked over.

"Sammy, can I fingerprint you? I'd like to."

"Sure!" he exclaimed, flashing her a big grin.

Sara raised an amused eyebrow at Grissom as she took the inkpad from his hand. His petulant expression was amusing. "I have a way with the boys."

"So I noticed."

"You can do the next one. No need to get jealous."

"Well, he's not my type," Grissom answered dryly as he swept trace evidence from the paper.

"I'd hope not."

"Whatcha talking about?"

Both Grissom and Sara paused, staring intently as they waited for the other to come up with an age-appropriate answer. Sara shook her head, pointing to Grissom who glared back at her. Brass' arrival provided the necessary distraction.

"This is the smallest jumpsuit we had," he said, putting the orange outfit on the table and moving to the far corner. "Officers found his neighborhood. Only two apartment buildings in the area. Shouldn't take long to find his Mom. I checked with Missing Persons. There's no one matching his description. Mom didn't care that he's been gone for days."

"Dammit," Grissom muttered. "Any word on when we'll get the clearance to get him to the hospital?"

"Probably at least another hour. Hold on. Lisa wasn't pulling your chain. She is busy tonight. Man shot his wife in front of their kids. She'll live, but the kids are a mess."

"Fine. Let us know as soon as she gets it."

"Look, it'll take you that long to clean the kid up. No offense, but I can smell him from down the hallway," Brass pointed out before heading to the door. "Oh, one last thing. You two need to learn to watch what you say in front of the kids."

Sara smiled, ignoring Grissom's frown at the quip about their earlier verbal faux pas. Moving to Sammy, she picked up the bundle of clothing and held out her hand to the boy.

"Grissom's going to take you to the locker room. You can take a shower there."

"No!" the boy screamed, violently pulling his hand away from Sara as he backed into a corner.

After a momentary shock, Sara looked over her shoulder, shaking her head as Grissom started to move forward. Something had spooked him. She didn't want to make him any more nervous. "Sammy, no one is going to hurt you."

"Yes, you are."

"Sammy. Sammy! Listen to me. You can trust me," Sara said calmly, squatting down in front of him.

_He's terrified. What did I do wrong? Why did the Child Service's rep leave? She's the one with the training. I don't know what to do. God, he really is terrified. What freaked him? The shower – there's something he doesn't like about showers. _

"Why don't you want to go to the shower?"

On the verge of tears, Sammy tried to dart past Sara, but she wrapped an arm around his waist, wincing when he began to pound her ferociously.

"Sammy, shhh. Relax, baby. Relax. Stay back, Grissom."

He froze, torn by his concern for Sara and the fact that his approach was making the boy more nervous. It was Sara's stern warning that decided the matter.

"Sammy, I'll let you go if you promise me you won't run. Do you promise?"

"Don't make me go to the shower. I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please, don't make me go. Please. I'll be good."

"You are good, Sammy," a bewildered Sara said as the boy began crying into her neck. She slipped her arms around him into a more comfortable position as he sobbed violently. "No one here will hurt you. I promise. I'll protect you," she swore.

Grissom waited until the boy calmed down some before moving closer. "Did Jake hurt you in the shower?"

Sammy barely lifted his head from Sara's neck, watching him anxiously. With her encouragement, the frightened boy nodded slowly. "He made me go there when he said I was bad. He'd make me stand under the cold water all day. If I tried to leave, he burned me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be bad. I didn't mean it. Please, don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry, baby. Neither is Grissom. And you weren't bad," she whispered, wiping the tears from his face. "You have nothing to worry about. Shhh. I told you: I won't let anyone here hurt you."

"Why were you going to make me take a shower?"

"Honey, what Jake did was wrong. The water isn't supposed to be cold. It should be comfortable. People take showers all the time. That's why you had one in your apartment. I take a shower every day. Sometimes, I take two."

"Why?"

"Because, sometimes at work, I get around something that doesn't smell good. I don't want to smell like that when I get home," Sara said, hoping she wasn't sounding accusatory. It had taken an effort not to let out a sigh of relief when they hadn't turned up any lice on the boy earlier.

"Uh, huh," he said warily.

"I won't lie to you. Ever. If you take a shower, it won't be cold. Or too hot."

"I don't wanna go in the shower," he whimpered.

"It won't hurt," Grissom said, taking a step closer.

"No!" the boy screamed.

"Sammy, you need to get cleaned up," Sara stated, trying to sound calm.

"Don't make me take a shower! Please. You promised."

"Okay, okay, no shower," she relented when he started to sob again. "But we have to get you washed up somehow."

"Why?"

"Because you're dirty."

"So?"

Sara gave Grissom an evil glare when a brief chuckle escaped from him. Leaning back, she brushed Sammy's hair before moving her fingers towards his chest, stopping above an inflamed area. "That one really hurts, doesn't it?"

"Uh, huh."

"That's because it's infected. That means something called bacteria got into the cut and made you sick. Bacteria are in the dirt. We don't want you getting any sicker, so we have to get you cleaned up."

"But no shower?"

"No shower."

Sara picked up the exhausted boy as she stood, pointing to the pile of clean clothes she'd dropped earlier. "Can you get those?"

"Do you want me to carry him?"

"That's okay," she said, touched by the tenderness in Grissom's voice. For his age, Sammy was light – far too light. "Let's go find a way to get you clean, kiddo."

Walking down the hallway, Sara considered the bathrooms. The male officers wouldn't appreciate her taking over their private domain, and she wasn't in the mood to fight with them. Besides, the bathroom sinks were too small. She smirked as another door caught her attention.

Grissom raised an eyebrow inquisitively as she opened the janitor's closet. Sara handed him the boy, making sure not to disrupt the towel wrapped around him. Sara quickly washed out the oversized sink and began filling it with warm water. She hid her grin as she began grabbing supplies from the shelves. Sammy was leaning as far back as he could, giving Grissom a dirty look. In return, Grissom was watching the child like he was something that had eaten his favorite bug collection.

When she reached the tubs of disinfectant, Sara eyed them longingly. She doubted Sammy ever came in contact with water except as a punishment. Some of the dirt was caked on him. Unfortunately, Child Services wouldn't approve of her making a human dip.

"Okay, buddy, time for you to wash up," she said, suppressing a grin when he practically leapt from Grissom into her arms. She set a stack of clean rags and a full bottle of liquid soap beside the sink. "Make sure to use plenty of soap. Grissom, could you find me another towel?"

Watching from the doorway, she frowned as Sammy made a half-hearted show of washing off his hands and turning around. With a sigh, she grabbed a cup from the shelf and walked to him.

_I'm going to kill Brass. I shouldn't be here. Sammy needs someone who knows what they are doing. I've never bathed a kid before. Hell, I've never bathed another adult before. _

"That's not good enough," Sara said, picking him up and sitting him on the wide edge of the sink with his feet in the water. "Lean forward."

Using the cup, she began pouring water over his head, thoroughly soaking Sammy's hair. Grabbing the liquid soap, she applied a generous amount as she began scrubbing gently. Once his hair was clean, she started on his torso, being extra gentle around his multiple injuries.

"Do you want me to finish this?" Grissom asked as he entered with extra towels.

"I'll do it."

Grissom leaned against the doorway, observing them quietly. He winced with Sara every time Sammy whimpered. Despite her amazing gentleness, the boy's injuries were painful, and it took an effort to clean some of the dirt away. From Sara's posture, he surmised that she was berating herself for being too rough, when the truth was there would be no painless way of washing Sammy.

Once she finished all the areas not covered by the towel, Sara stood Sammy up in the sink and passed him a fresh washrag. "I want you to clean every place else. And use soap!" Sara directed as she turned towards the door. When Grissom placed a hand on her elbow, she looked up in surprise. He gave her a brief smile before taking one of the clean towels and walking forward.

"Well, do you want Sara to see you naked?"

Sara smirked at Grissom's exasperation. Sammy definitely wasn't taking a liking to him. Listening to the splash and grumbling, she gathered the boy was reluctantly allowing Grissom to dry him off.

"Here are his clothes," she said, passing the bundle behind her, giggling when a somewhat damp Grissom moved in front of her. "How did you get that wet?"

Instead of answering, he ran his eyes up and down her, frowning when he realized Sara had managed to stay perfectly dry. With a pout, he nodded behind her.

Turning around, she found Sammy swimming in the jailhouse outfit. Kneeling in front of him, she rolled up the sleeves and pant legs before trying to get his hair into a neater configuration.

"Feel better?"

"No."

"Well, you look better." _And smell better. God look at him. All he wants is someone to care. He really is sweet. How could any adult do this to him? And his own mother. I could have done a better job with him, and that's saying something. _

"I'm sleepy."

"Want to take a nap? Okay, let's go."

Grissom frowned as he walked behind Sara and Sammy. He had no connection to the child, but he was feeling left out. It was an odd sensation, considering his normal state of emotional isolation was intentional.

_Why doesn't he like me? I'm likeable. Lindsey likes me. I did feed him. That should count for something. Does he really see me as a rival for Sara's attention? I don't know where he got that idea. _

_Well, Sara told him I was a friend. He's bonding with Sara. She's a surrogate mother. His true mother's 'friend' was abusive. Projection? He could have trouble forming a relationship with a father figure. Where is his father? What kind of man abandons his own child? _

_Guess I could ask Mother about that one. _

Before they could reach the couch in Brass' office, the captain caught up to them, proudly bearing a document. "You've been paroled. You're free to turn him over to the good doctors at Desert Palms."

"I'll drive," Grissom stated, bending over to pick up Sammy, who'd been lagging behind as he tried to stay awake. The boy frowned, but didn't protest, and was asleep before they reached the Denali.

The drive to the hospital was silent, neither wanting to disturb the boy as he slept. Once there, Grissom carefully undid the seatbelt, moving cautiously as he extracted Sammy from the back. Looking up, he found Sara watching him with a tender look.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Giving her a small smile, they walked together into the Emergency Room. They were efficiently directed to a waiting area, then left there. Taking the chair, Grissom shifted Sammy into a comfortable position, being careful not to hold the injured child too tightly.

"You can put him on the cot."

"I don't want to wake him."

"Of course not," she replied lightly, hopping on the cot and watching Grissom with a touch of amazement. For all his lack of social skills, he genuinely liked children and seemed to know how to connect with them.

_I'm lucky if they don't start crying the minute they see me. Why did Brass do this? He knows I'm not good with kids. I hope I didn't make anything worse. He's going to need a lot of help already. _

It took time, but eventually a doctor arrived and directed Grissom to place Sammy on the cot. Sara slid off to the side, waiting for when he woke up.

"Hey. Did you sleep okay? We're at the hospital. There are doctors and nurses here. They're going to make you feel better."

Sammy looked around his new surroundings nervously, grabbing Sara's hand possessively when a nurse started taking his vital signs. She rested her other hand over his shoulders, stroking it gently as she encouraged him to follow the doctor's directions. Everything went relatively well until it came time to draw blood. The sight of the needle was too much for the already anxious boy.

Grissom moved from his post by the door, slipping his jacket off quickly. _Sara's not having much luck convincing him. I have an idea. _

"Hey, Sara, I'll let them draw blood from me. I'm not afraid," Grissom said in a mock-challenging tone as he rolled up his sleeve. The nurse winked at him as she drew a vial of blood. "See. I did it."

"I'm … very … proud … of you," a bemused Sara said, giving him a smirk. "You can have a treat later."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I figured you would."

"I'm not afraid," Sammy squeaked as he held out a shaky hand to the nurse.

"It's okay to be afraid," Sara told him, looking over his head to catch Grissom's eye. "It's part of being human. But don't let it run your life. In the end, you'll find the things you're scared of – they aren't as bad as you think."

Grissom tilted his head as he watched Sara, wondering if her words had been directed at him. She continued to comfort Sammy as the nurse inserted the needle, prompting him to bury his head in Sara's side. _Why didn't I think of doing that? Well, Sammy can probably get away with more than I can. _

Moving to the cot, Grissom gave the boy an encouraging smile. Sammy, in turn, stuck out his tongue.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" the nurse asked.

Sammy didn't answer but glared at Grissom before wrapping his arms around Sara possessively. She grinned at him, ruffling his hair softly before scooting him up the bed. "Why don't you go back to sleep now?"

She stayed by his side, softly humming until he drifted off, vaguely aware that Grissom was observing her in silent amusement. Eventually, the doctor returned, a frown on his face as he reviewed Sammy's chart.

"How bad is it?" Sara asked immediately.

"I'm not sure. Multiple infected injuries. We'll do X-rays later to see if there is any bone damage. I think he has scurvy, and we never see that anymore. But he's also malnourished, so that isn't too surprising."

"Is that why he's so small?" she pressed.

"Without a more complete history, I can't tell you. If he's been underfed for any length of time, it could have stunted his growth. But he's in the lower percentile for his age group. It could be he's naturally small. If you can find his guardian, we can find out more about his background."

"We're looking," Grissom stated.

"We're going to admit Sammy. We'll get him on an IV, pump some vitamins and antibiotics into him. Depending on what the other tests turn up, he should be able to be released in a few days. The nurse will be in when they get a room for him. You're welcome to wait."

"Thanks," Sara told him, crossing her arms as she moved to stare out a window.

"You okay?" Grissom asked once they were alone.

"Scurvy? Dammit, Grissom, scurvy! Sailors knew how to prevent that centuries ago. There's no damned excuse for that. What the hell were they feeding him?"

"Not enough, whatever it was."

"No child deserves to suffer that way. Not in today's society. If his mother didn't have the money, there are church groups, government agencies that would have gotten them food. What the hell was wrong with her?"

"That's a question I don't know the answer to. And – at times – I'm not sure I want to know."

"What?"

"To truly understand it, you'd have to be able to put yourself in the place of the abuser. I never want to be able to do that. It's bad enough, doing what we do, without that."

"I never thought of it that way before. And you accuse me of being the empathetic one," she said, bumping his arm with hers.

"I've always cared," he said unexpectedly, watching their reflections in the glass.

"But you don't want other people to know."

They locked gazes through their reflections. Sara's statement surprised Grissom; it carried a sadness that he couldn't mistake. Could she know?

"Old habits die hard."

"But, when there's a will, there's a way," Sara countered pointedly.

"Slow and steady wins the race," Grissom replied with an amused expression.

"Make hay while the sun shines."

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"What kind of tricks are you talking about?" Sara asked innocently.

They shared a brief laugh, both enjoying the momentary release of tension. Sara turned back to face the sleeping Sammy, leaning against the windowsill. "Do you think he'll ever be okay? Really okay? What's this going to do to the rest of his life?"

"I don't know," Grissom said sadly, mimicking Sara's position. "None of the injuries look very old. The shorter this has been going on, the better his chances. And not all abused children have serious problems later in life."

"God, I hope you're right. But you know what scares me? There'll be a judge out there that thinks Sammy's mom deserves another chance, and he'll get sent back to her. She let this happen once. She'll do it again."

Grissom nodded, unable to find words to comfort her. Her fears were justified. All too often, they dealt with children who'd been abused, only to be returned to the same adults who injured them. It often started a cycle of violence the children continued as they grew up. The odds that some day they would have to process Sammy again, either as a victim or the perpetuator, were too high.

"You don't have to stay," Sara told him.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"No. I know you don't like these types of cases. You don't have to hang around. I'll wait until Child Services gets here."

"It's a slow night. I'd have to do paperwork if I went back to the lab," Grissom said kindly. "He's going to sleep for a while. Why don't you go get some coffee?"

"And have him wake up with just you in the room?" she answered playfully. "He's been traumatized enough."

"I fed him. He should like me."

"He's not a stray, Grissom."

"You and Brass should take your act on the road," he said peevishly. Sara was teasing him, but the fact the child didn't like him was oddly disturbing. The realization that he wanted to share in the bond between Sara and Sammy was equally disconcerting.

"If I take Brass on the road, it'll be to leave him as road-kill," she muttered darkly. "I can't believe him. Why didn't he ask for Catherine? He knows I'm not good with kids."

"I think Sammy would disagree."

Sara dropped her head, looking away as she blinked rapidly. Grissom's sincerity was touching, and she hoped he was correct. If nothing else, she wanted the boy to know that there had been someone in his life who had been concerned about him.

They kept a silent vigil over Sammy until Matthews reappeared. She checked on the sleeping child before joining them in the corner of the examination room.

"I talked to Capt. Brass. They haven't located the mother or boyfriend yet, but they have names and descriptions. The boyfriend has a record for a variety of petty crimes. Sheila Yeager has a history of drug problems since she was a teenager."

"What's going to happen to Sammy now?" Sara asked.

"We've contacted the maternal grandparents in Iowa. They're flying in later. They never knew about Sammy, but they are very concerned and have offered to raise him. At this point, it'll be up to a Family Court judge."

She paused as the door opened, revealing an orderly with a gurney and a nurse. Sara moved to be with Sammy when he woke up again, but even her presence couldn't completely calm him down. When the nurse started the IV, he howled in protest, thrashing as he tried to pull away. That prompted Sara to wrap her arms around him, pulling him close against her body as she tried to find a way to get him to relax.

"Go away. You lied," he cried, butting his head into her. "You said you wouldn't let them hurt me. You lied."

"Sammy," she started, "I didn't lie. They aren't trying to hurt you. This will make you feel better."

"It hurts!"

"I'm sorry. But you need it."

"No, I don't. You promised."

"Sammy!" Grissom said sternly, but kindly, moving to sit on the opposite side of the cot. "Sara doesn't lie. Do you remember what she told you about infections?"

The boy nodded sharply. He leaned away from Grissom, accepting refuge in Sara's arms as his fear overrode his anger.

"Well, those infected cuts hurt, don't they? The doctors will make the infection go away, but to do that, they have to get the medicine inside you. The nurse is going to put the medication inside this bag, and it will run down this tube and inside you. That's going to make you feel better in a day or two."

Sammy looked up at Sara pleadingly. She eased her grip on him, and nodded. "That's the way it works," she said, trying to sound cheering. "In a few days, you'll be all better."

"Now, young man, it's time to get you to your very own room," the orderly said. He gave Sara an approving smile at the way she'd handled the situation. He hated restraining kids; they didn't understand what was going on.

"What?"

Sara let out a ragged breath and tried to smile lightly at Sammy. "You need to stay here for a few days while the doctors take care of you."

"You said you wouldn't leave me."

"I'll be back. But you need to rest and get well for now."

"Why can't I stay with you? I wanna stay with you."

"You can't, Sammy."

"Why?" he whimpered.

She reached to brush an errant lock of hair down, but he jerked away from her. When that brought him closer to Grissom, he hissed at him to go away. Sara's jaw dropped as she tried to find a way to explain it to him. How? Her parents would have given her a story about moonbeams and fairy dust. Even at Sammy's age, she wanted to know the truth.

"Sammy, you can't stay with me," she said softly, making sure to keep eye contact with him. "The only way they can make you better is if you stay here. I don't want you to be sick. I want you to get better, so you have to stay here. It's only for a few days."

"Then what?" he asked uncertainly. "Can I stay with you?"

"I'm afraid not. You see, the folks at Child Services, they want to make sure that you don't end up staying with someone like Jake again. So, they won't let just anybody take you home. People have to apply and pass an inspection, so that kids end up with nice people."

"You're nice."

"Thanks, Sammy. So are you. But the folks at Child Services don't know that."

"I'll tell them."

"That won't work," she said sadly. "They have to follow all these rules. They want to be really careful to make sure you go to a good family. Besides, I don't have anyplace for you to stay. I don't even have a bed for you."

"I don't have a bed at home. I'll be good. I promise. Please don't leave me."

Sara closed her eyes as the tears threatened. His pleas were heartbreaking. She considered dodging the issue by telling him that they could talk about it later, but she wouldn't do that to him. Lying would get her off the hook, but it would only hurt him more later.

"Sammy, I can't take you home. I'm sorry. But you know what? Your grandparents are coming to see you. You have relatives, family, that care about you. You might be able to go home with them."

"No! I don't wanna."

"Look, Sammy, you need to get some rest. I'll be back later," she said, watching as the nurse darted out of the room.

"No, you won't! You lied to me. I hate you!"

Grissom's arm snaked out in time to block the punch Sammy sent in Sara's direction. The orderly calmly lifted her aside, reaching across to help restrain the screaming child, frowning as Sammy managed to rip out his IV.

"Get offa me! Get offa me!"

The nurse reappeared with a syringe and a doctor. Pushing Grissom aside, the three hospital workers managed to expose Sammy's upper arm and inject him. As his cries and thrashes subsided, Grissom pulled a shocked Sara from the room.

"What did I do?" she asked, looking at him with wide eyes as she breathed heavily. "God, what did I do to him?"

"Sara, this isn't your fault. He's tired and afraid and in pain. He took it out on you. Come on," he said, grasping her elbow as he pulled her into the early morning sunshine.

"I, I'm the one who promised I wouldn't leave him. I didn't want to make things worse."

"You didn't. Sammy's … damaged."

"He's a child, not a damned piece of furniture."

"I know," Grissom said as he climbed into the Denali. "And what you've done for him was wonderful. But he needs more than a kind word and someone to care. Sammy needs professional help."

"He wanted to stay with me," she said humorlessly. "Guess that proves he does need help."

"No, it means you're probably the closest he's ever had to a real mother."

"Do you have any idea how sad that is?"

"Yes," Grissom said, giving her a level look as they drove off. "And not because it's you. Because he had to do without something that should have been natural."

"Yeah."

Sara turned to stare out the side window, but Grissom caught her wiping her eyes once briefly. As he feared, this case was going to haunt her. It was a danger in their line of work. When you dealt with death and destruction on a daily basis, you tended to lose track of other things.

"Do you have a few minutes?" Grissom asked cautiously.

"You can explain to my boss where I am. Why?"

"Field observations."

Minutes later, he pulled into one of the city's municipal parks. Sara followed him with a curious expression as they made their way to a bench on a hill overlooking a playground. This early in the morning, only a few children were there.

Sitting down, Grissom pointed to a group playing by the swings. Sara looked from them, to Grissom and back. "Homo Sapiens Immaturus?"

"Normal," he said, darting his eyes towards Sara. "That's something we don't see enough of. Normal, happy children. The only time we meet them on the job is after something terrible happens to them."

"You come here often?"

"Too often. Any time I have a case that involves kids, I like to come here to remind myself that the case was the exception, not the norm."

Sara cocked her head, studying Grissom's features as he observed the children. It was a rare glimpse into his personal life, and she was honored that he let her in. She only wished some other factor had served as a catalyst. Grissom was emotionally reserved, but everyone in the lab knew he hated cases that involved child abuse.

_Yet here he is, worrying about me. You can be a surprising man, Grissom. You surprised me the night you drove me home from the police station. I thought you'd be disgusted or angry, but you weren't. I can't describe what it felt like when you took my hand. It was like I knew you were my friend again. That … helped. Would it help him? _

Grissom knew he was being watched, but when Sara tentatively brushed her hand over his, he looked down in shock. After a moment, he moved his hand so that he could intertwine his fingers with hers, squeezing them gently as he resumed his observations.

They sat quietly until a Frisbee bounced off the toe of Grissom's boot. They turned around to see a pair of open-mouthed twin girls staring at them. A woman behind them shook her head exasperatedly.

"Mandy, Sandy, apologize to the couple for disturbing them."

"We're sorry."

"No trouble," Sara said, grinning as Grissom picked up the Frisbee and knelt down to hand it to the approaching girls. When he winked at them as they waved, she began to wonder what Grissom as a father would be like. After he returned to the bench and took her hand again, she decided to test just how open he was today.

"Did you ever want to have children?"

"I don't think that's a medical experiment I would want to take part in. Besides, I don't think I'd look good in maternity clothes."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not … adverse to the idea."

"Whoa. No need to get all emotional on me," she deadpanned.

Grissom dropped his head as he took a deep breath. "The thought has crossed my mind. But, I think given my age, that it's not that viable an option."

"Why not? Male fertility and virility only decrease with age. Barring a medical mishap, you could be making Grissomettes for decades."

"I was referring more to the fact that I haven't found a partner in that time frame. It's not the idea of 'Grissomettes' that appeals to me. It's the thought of a family."

"Have you ever looked for this partner?" she asked cautiously.

"No. Not in the past," he said, clearing his throat nervously. "What about you? Do you want children?"

"Oh, yeah, I could see that."

"What?"

"Me, Grissom? With a kid? Come on."

"I think you'd be an excellent mother."

"I, I, uhm, I don't think so," she said quietly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know anything about them!"

"Who does? It's not like they come with manuals. It's the ultimate learn-on-the-job experience."

"Grissom," she said with a headshake. "I've never even changed a diaper before."

"Really?"

"Nope. My dad thought baby-sitting was a 'stereotypical form of female bondage, precipitated from a tradition-bound patriarchal hierarchy'. Mom thought if I wanted to earn some extra money, I could help around the business."

"Changing diapers isn't hard," Grissom insisted, dropping his head as he leaned towards her.

"When have you ever changed a diaper?" she challenged.

"I'm sure I saw Catherine change Linds when she was a baby."

"So, you've never actually done it," she said, grinning as she leaned back against the bench.

"I'm sure between the two of us, we could figure it out."

Sara's grin froze as her eyes snapped towards Grissom. He was talking in general, not about them specifically. _Wasn't he? We're in public, holding hands. He didn't blink when that woman called us a couple. Oh. Oh, my. _

"Grissom, I, I don't think I'd be a good mother," she said earnestly.

He twisted on the bench, bringing one leg up so he could face her. "Why not?"

Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath before plunging in.

"I'm not crazy about daycare. For me. I mean, you never really know what's going on there. And the germs – a place with that many kids would be impossible to keep clean. That's why kids who go there get sick more often. And all the studies show the same thing: kids raised at home do better in school, have fewer problems.

"It's different if the mother needs to work, for financial reasons. But I wouldn't. One advantage of maxing out on overtime every month, I guess. I wouldn't have to go back to work until the kid was old enough to start school, even if I didn't get any support from the father.

"So, it would be hard for me to justify sending my child to daycare. My kid, my responsibility, you know? That's the way I feel. I wouldn't mind if they went somewhere for a few hours a week to play with other kids, but I wouldn't want to turn over their entire care to a stranger. Say what you want about how weird my parents are, but they always let us know we were their first priority."

"And you wouldn't want to stay at home, either," Grissom ventured.

"I'm not a domestic diva," Sara said, shrugging as she looked away. "I don't think I'd be happy staying at home all the time. Not satisfied. I don't know, maybe once I had kids, I'd feel different, but what if I didn't? I wouldn't be happy, and I'd never want my kids to think I regretted having them. I'd never do that to them. Does any of that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," he replied evenly, releasing her hand as leaned forward. Resting his arms on his knees and clasping his hands under his chin, Grissom returned to his observation of playing children.

Sara followed the progress of a squirrel as it ran from tree to tree, anything to keep her attention from Grissom. She couldn't help but feel that something between them had ended before it had a chance to start.

"What if the father stayed at home?"

She slowly turned back to him, her mouth open in surprise.

"What if the father had a career that he could run from a home office? You could still work, too, and split the responsibilities of taking care of the children."

"I'd, uhm, I think I'd put this mystery guy on the shelf next to my invisible pink unicorn."

"If it's invisible, how do you know it's pink?"

"What other color would an invisible unicorn be?"

"I get the feeling you're trying to tell me you find this option to be unbelievable," Grissom said softly.

"Highly improbable," Sara corrected.

"Why?"

"I'm a scientist. I need evidence to believe in something."

"And you haven't observed any?"

"Nothing that I'd called definitive," she answered quickly.

"And if the evidence does turn up?"

"I'd, uh, I'd have to investigate it carefully. This is, uh, major?"

"Definitely not something that should be entered into lightly."

"Hell, no," she swore loudly.

Grissom's lips twitched as he started to lean back on the bench. The ringing cell phone halted his progress.

"Grissom … we'll be there … Thanks," he said, standing up quickly. "Sheila Yeager and Jake Trappe are on their way to the station. Let's go."

The drive back went quickly and silently. They found Brass waiting in the hallway outside the interrogation room. One look at them, and he pointed to the observation area. "You're both steaming. Go," he directed.

"Cocaine bugs," Sara whispered angrily, watching as the frail woman frantically ran her nails over her arms.

"And it looks like Jake was abusing her as well," Grissom added, focusing on her two black eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with people?" Sara asked as the public defender arrived.

Her temper continued to rise as Jake flatly denied ever harming either Sammy or his mother, calling the boy a lying thief. He even went as far to claim his injuries were all self-inflicted. "Tell them, Sheila. Tell them I never hit that bastard of yours."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Sara swore as Yeager shook her head erratically.

"No offense, Jake, but she's not exactly in a position to be answering questions," Brass said coldly. "And we have enough physical evidence to put you away for a very long time."

"See what your little bastard did? I told you to get rid of him. Did you listen to me? Now I'm going to get in trouble because of him. You ungrateful bitch."

Officers rushed into the room, pulling the flailing man away from Sammy's mother, who only flinched under the violent assault.

"God, what kind of home life did Sammy have?" Sara muttered angrily. "How could he do that to him? And his mother. Dammit. It's bad enough when a woman is afraid to leave a violent partner, but to let her son suffer like that?"

"I don't know if she's even aware of what's going on. She's completely out of it," Grissom said darkly as they went to join Brass.

The police captain shook his head sadly as Trappe was subdued and drug down the hallway, and a spaced-out Yeager was lead away in another direction. "Things go okay at the hospital?"

"Peachy," Sara muttered, angrily heading to the exit.

"Don't ask," was all Grissom warned as he followed her. On the ride back to the lab, he tried to engage her in conversation, but her brunt answers and stiff posture prompted him to give her a bit of space.

Once they reached the lab, she immediately headed for the Layout Room and began processing the evidence they collected from Sammy. Unlike her normal, organized approach, she ruffled through the evidence until she found the boy's pants. Spreading them on the table, she took the ALS and began a thorough inspection. She wrinkled her nose repeatedly at some of what they found as Grissom set out the rest of the evidence.

"No semen," she breathed out.

"That's something," he offered. The boy had suffered enough without that added abuse.

She didn't answer as they continued to process the remaining evidence. When she finally stretched up as she logged the last entry, Sara noticed the time was early afternoon.

"Did Brass say what time Sammy's grandparents were flying in?"

"No. Why?" Grissom asked nervously as he peered over the top of his glasses.

"I want to go see him again. I was wondering if I'd run into them."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Visiting or talking?"

"Either," Grissom said, moving around the table to stand beside her.

"I just want to see what they're like. I'm not going to tell them they have a hideous daughter," she sighed. "And I have to see Sammy. At least to say good-bye."

"Drop the swabs off in DNA while I take the rest to the Evidence Vault. I'll meet you out front. This is _our_ case."

What Grissom didn't tell Sara was that he was worried about her. Not that Sammy could physically hurt her. He was too weak to do much injury. But the child could hurt Sara in a way that wouldn't leave a physical mark. Grissom was certain Sammy didn't know what he'd done, but the boy's words had hurt Sara.

"You didn't have to do this," she said as they approached his hospital room. "I, uh, have a pretty good idea what type of reaction I'll get from Sammy."

"Remember what I said. He's hurting, physically and emotionally. He's lashing out. Don't place much stock in his words."

"How about his emotions? He meant what he said," Sara said sadly.

"Sara," Grissom said quietly, shaking his head as he failed to find the words that could take away her pain.

In the hallway outside his room, they ran into Matthews talking to a gray-haired couple. The Child Services Representative made the introductions before leaving.

"We're so glad you're here," Tom Yeager said quickly, taking Sara's hand. "Sammy was asking for you earlier."

"He was?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Oh, yes. He was afraid you weren't coming back. When I asked him why, he said he'd been bad."

"He wasn't," Sara said emotionally. "Can I see him?"

"He's asleep. One of the tests they had to run, they thought it would be better if he was out for it. He hasn't completely come around yet," Cheryl Yeager added.

"Have the doctors said anything?" Grissom asked cautiously, mentally running through potential tests.

"They're still running tests. They're worried about his bones."

"Malnourishment can cause a variety of skeletal disorders," Grissom nodded. "But they're treatable."

"The doctors are optimistic. Well, physically. The rest? Only time will tell."

"Will you be taking care of Sammy?" Sara asked.

"We hope," Mrs. Yeager said. "We have an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow morning. Sheila said she'd sign over custody. The judge has to sign off on it."

"I left a message with my sister. She works with the school district. She's tracking down different specialists for us in our area. We'll do whatever it takes to help Sammy."

"I already told the bank I was retiring early if necessary. I was getting sick of my new supervisor anyway."

"That's very kind of you," she replied.

"We couldn't help Sheila. Taking care of her baby is the least we can do," Mrs. Yeager said, crying softly.

"Hush, you know we tried," Mr. Yeager said, pulling his wife into a hug. "We did try, Miss Sidle, Mr. Grissom. Don't think we let Sheila turn out that way. She's the youngest of our five, and the only one that's ever been in any trouble."

"It was that damned accident," Mrs. Yeager explained. "Sheila started out so well. Straight-A student, all-state choir, on the track team. Then, one night on the way home from a dance with some friends, their car was hit by a drunk driver. Her best friend died in front of her."

"Sheila died that night, too. In a way. She never was the same. I don't know if it was the experience, or if she got hooked on the pain killers from all the surgeries she needed, but our little girl never was the same after that," Mr. Yeager said.

"We tried. We tried everything we could think of. We sent her to rehab, to counselors, therapists, ministers. Nothing ever worked. She kept going back to the drugs."

"When she was arrested the fourth time before she was 18, we didn't bail her out that time. We told her she had to learn from her mistakes. That we'd help her any way we could, but she had to take responsibilities for her actions."

"We're not cold-hearted. The therapist told us to do that. That she had to want to be cured."

"I understand," Sara told her. "You can't help someone unless they want your help."

"Yes, thank you. But, Sheila could never find the will. She ran away the same day she was released from lockup. We never heard from her again."

"To tell you the truth, we thought she died years ago," Mr. Yeager said sadly. "We tried to find her, but by then she had turned 18. She wasn't a runaway, so the police couldn't really help us."

"We never knew about Sammy, or I swear we would have fought for custody for him. Sheila couldn't take care of herself. There's no way she could care for a child."

"I don't know what else we can do for her. We're hoping the judge will send her to a rehab center. Maybe, just maybe, she's hit bottom. Maybe she's ready to fight for her life back," he said doubtfully.

"I hope so," Sara said kindly.

"Thank you. For everything. Miss Matthews told us you stayed with Sammy all night," Mrs. Yeager said.

"You really made an impression with him. You must have children of your own."

"Uh, no," Sara said, shaking her head.

"Excuse Tom, he thinks all women are mothers," his wife teased gently. "If you work nights, you must be exhausted. Let's see if Sammy is awake yet."

The group moved into the darkened room. Sammy moved listlessly in his bed. Sara smiled to see the array of photos on the bedside table, and a large stuffed German shepherd at his feet.

"Sammy," she said quietly.

"Sara? You're here?"

"I promised I'd be back," she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Who's your friend?"

"Gramps gave me him. He said my aunt has lots of them. When we get to Iawo, I can play with a puppy if I promise to be nice to it."

"I think you're going to like it in Iowa," she corrected softly, picking up a photo showing a gaggle of happy children mixed in with a variety of pups. "Are these your cousins?"

Sammy rolled his head to his grandparents, who nodded.

"Well, you go back to sleep, okay? I'll come see you again tomorrow when I get off work."

"Bye, Sara," he said sleepily.

"Bye, Sammy."

Grissom and Sara made their good-byes to the Yeagers and walked to the elevator. Once inside, Sara leaned her head against the wall, exhaling loudly.

"You okay?"

"Better than okay," she said with a slight headshake. "I think Sammy has a chance."

"It sounds like his grandparents understand what they're in for."

"And they're willing to go through that type of ordeal again. This isn't going to be easy. He's going to need a lot of help," Sara sighed.

"I think they'll make sure he gets it."

"Ugh. I hope so," she said, pushing off of the wall when they reached the lobby. "Right now, though? I'm going home and taking a shower."

"Janitor's closet is right over there," Grissom quipped.

"You're going to tease me about that, aren't you?"

"No."

"Really," she said doubtfully.

"May I remind you which of us got soaked in that adventure?"

Sara laughed as they walked into the sunshine, tilting her head back as she soaked in the warmth.

"I'll make a deal with you, Grissom. You help me plot my revenge on Brass, and I won't mention the bath incident. At least not to others."

"The best revenge is no revenge."

"Don't go getting all Zen on me," she groaned.

"I'm not. Let Jim sweat. When you see him, give him a wicked smile, chuckle menacingly and walk away. It'll drive him crazy."

"Mind games?"

"Anticipation is highly underrated," Grissom stated as he opened the Denali door for her.

"But anticipation only works when you think something really is going to happen," she said as she slid into the seat.

"I think things are going to start happening," he said, closing the door on a surprised Sara, smiling as he rounded the front of the Denali.

**The End**


End file.
